


Ten Romantic Valentine's Day Ideas for Busy People

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date Night, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, romantic dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3361049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony do their best to celebrate Valentine's Day together.  They're busy and it's not perfect, but it ends up surprisingly romantic all the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Romantic Valentine's Day Ideas for Busy People

Steve actually doesn’t remember until he steps into the first floor of the Tower what day it is.  Then he stops dead and says “Shit,” out loud. Since he’s still in his commander uniform, that gets people to stare at him.  He glares at them until they stop, then runs his hands back into his hair and groans.

 

It’s Valentine’s Day, and he completely forgot. This is awful. He knows Tony won’t . . . won’t make anything of it, he never does, but _Tony_ always remembers stuff like this.  He’ll have done something.  And Steve won’t have done anything.  And he is the worst boyfriend.

 

He turns on his heel and walks right back out of the Tower again.  It’s not worth running into Tony.  He’ll make his preparations before risking boyfriend contact.

 

He comes back to the Tower about forty-five minutes later.  So it was a little rushed. But he does have a bouquet of gorgeous (and expensive) red roses and chocolate covered fruit truffles, because Tony loves them and won’t admit to it and makes sad eyes at all the chocolates that have alcohol in them at the store.  But these are nice, and alcohol-free, and Tony should like them. Steve is ready now. He heads up to his room before looking for Tony, though, and rushes through a shower.  He expects a buzz on his intercom, a text on his phone, the whole time he’s toweling his hair dry, but nothing comes.  A little nonplussed, he gets dressed in a nice shirt and slacks, dress shoes, and gathers up his gifts to head for Tony’s suite.

 

He knocks on the door first, and is surprised when he doesn’t get a response.  But the door isn’t locked, so he steps inside, and then everything starts to make sense.  The room is all set up to be soft and romantic, and there’s a table for two by the window, looking out over the city.  Candlelight. Italian food carefully warming on the stove; Steve can smell it from where he stands, and a bottle of what’s probably sparkling cider chilling in ice on the counter of the small suite kitchen. There’s actually rose petals on the bed. And Tony, in a neat suit and tie, is slumped over the back of one of the chairs at the table, head drooping to one side, fast asleep.

 

Steve suddenly feels a wave of affection, warm and heady and squeezing, well up inside his chest.  He loves Tony so much, he thinks, and knows he’s smiling to himself as he puts the chocolate and the flowers down on the coffee table and crosses over to where Tony sits asleep.  It’s not Tony’s fault; Steve was late, after all, and he knows how hard Tony works. He tugs the chair out from the table first, slowly and carefully, then slides his hand under Tony’s head, combing his fingers through his hair as he supports his head, lifts it up where it’s hanging limp, his fingers gently bracing his neck.  He leans in, brushes a kiss against Tony’s forehead, against his nose, then a soft one against his mouth, gentle and slow, lingering over his lips.  His hair is loose and curling, not slicked back, and Steve smiles to himself because Tony must have left it that way because Steve likes it soft and rufflable so much, curling over his ears and forehead and the back of his neck.  “Hey there, Shellhead,” he murmurs into his mouth, dropping one arm to hover over Tony’s chest, ready to catch and hold him if he starts awake.  Tony’s lips are soft and slack under his, his breath sleepy-warm and even softer.

 

Tony’s nose wrinkles at Steve’s voice, but he gives a little humming noise, presses up into the kiss, tilting his head into it, his mouth melting under it, easing open, without opening his eyes or seeming to wake up.  Steve smiles a little, scratches his fingers lightly at his scalp.  Tony makes another soft noise, but it’s a moment before his eyelids flutter and he groans softly.

 

Then his eyes leap open and he sits up. At first his words are muffled in Steve’s mouth, but then he straightens, pulls away.  “You’re here,” he’s muttering frantically, hands coming up, gripping in Steve’s shirt then pulling away, resting on his shoulders. “Shit—I—what time is it, Steve—I was going to call you—”

 

“It’s about eight pm,” Steve says, smiling at him, running his hand through Tony's hair again and shifting to kneel beside his chair, not pulling it away.  “And it’s fine, Tony.  I made it here all right.” He leans in, presses a kiss to the side of Tony’s mouth while Tony’s still rambling, and he sees Tony smile, the twitch in the corner of his lips, even as he turns his face away and scrubs a hand back through his own hair, then drops it like it’s a habit not to run his hand through his hair.

 

“Hell, Steve, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he finally says, a little heavily, almost hopeless, like he knows he doesn’t have an excuse and doesn’t intend to look for one.

 

“I know,” Steve tells him.  “It’s no problem.  I was late.”  He squeezes Tony’s knee, gets to his feet.  “This all looks great,” he said, hoping it comes through in his voice, how honestly touched he is, how sweet and romantic everything is, how much he appreciates Tony’s romantic touches, his extra effort, just all of it.

 

Tony looks up at him for a moment, then seems to shake it off, squares his shoulders and gets to his feet with a wry smile. “Well, that was a bit less of a romantic start than I wanted,” he says, “but I’m glad you like it, sunshine.” He leans forward, hand curling in Steve’s shirt, just gently, and presses a soft kiss to his mouth. Steve grins and kisses back, bringing a hand up to curve around the back of his head, press into his hair, again. Tony makes a pleased humming noise and steps in against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and Steve curls his other arm around his waist.  They stay like that for a moment, and Steve would be happy to stay like that much longer, but then Tony is pulling away, slowly, with brushes of their lips against each other, hot and wet, running his fingers through Steve’s hair, but pulling away all the same.  “So,” he says, a little husky and thick.  “Dinner?”

 

Steve has to blink a moment, but then he catches his breath and smiles back into Tony’s face.  “Sure thing,” he says, and squeezes his arm around his trim waist a little. “Oh, I bought you something,” he says, suddenly pleased with himself for remembering in time. He _knew_ Tony would have done something.  It’s a good thing he took steps.  Because, well, he cares about Tony, of course he does.  He’s just not as good at setting up things all careful and romantic like Tony is.  But Tony is important to him, so it’s important to show him that sometimes, too, the old-fashioned way.

 

“Hmm?” Tony says, smiling a little, and looking around. “You really didn’t have to. I mean, I didn’t let you know I was doing this or anything.  It was going to be a surprise.”

 

“Of course I had to,” Steve says back, shaking his head at him.  “You’re my best guy.” He picks up the flowers, then the chocolates.  “Which do you want first?”

 

“Flowers,” Tony says, though his eyes went immediately to the chocolates, fixing on them hungrily.  “Those are gorgeous, honey.”

 

Steve blushes a little as he hands them to Tony and he takes a deep whiff of their scent, but says it anyway, “So are you. So they suit you.”

 

“I know you like me in red,” Tony says, and winks, and moves away to pull the roses out of their wrapping and put them into a vase. His cheeks are just a little flushed, Steve notices, barely visible with the olive tone of his complexion, but there, and he smiles, pleased with himself now, even if it was a little too easy, the gifts so traditional.

 

“Sorry I didn’t get you anything more unique,” he says, setting the chocolates on the table and following Tony into the kitchen. He comes up behind him, rests a hand at his back, as Tony arranges the flowers.

 

“Hmm?” Tony says and looks up at him, looking surprised.  “No, this is—” he smiles a little, to himself, looking down.  “This is great.  Really.”

 

“Okay,” Steve allows, and leans down, kisses his ear, and watches Tony’s smile widen.  “Can I help with the food at all?”

 

“You can pour the cider,” Tony tells him, smiling a little more, and brushing his lips along Steve’s jaw as he finishes with the flowers.  “The rest of it’s my job, as the cook.”

 

“You cooked?” Steve says, knowing he’s grinning. He doesn’t seem like he would be, but when Tony’s paying attention to what he’s doing and not forgetting about it to scribble down schematics, he’s a great cook, and Steve can’t help how much he enjoys Tony cooking for him.  It just feels . . . like home, somehow.

 

“Yes, I cooked,” Tony said.  “So it won’t be as good as it would be at Perla or Del Posto or Giuseppe’s, but I hope it’s edible, anyway.”

 

Steve shakes his head at him again, smiling at him as he goes to deal with the cider.  “You know I like your cooking better than anything from a fancy restaurant,” he tells him, and steals another kiss while Tony is pretending to frown at him and actually looking all pleased and flustered.

 

“Yes, I know, you have terrible taste,” Tony calls after him, and Steve just grins.

 

Tony comes after him in a moment with the roses, setting them in the center of the table, and Steve tells him, “I like it.” Tony huffs at him.

 

“Well, that’s good,” he tells him, “because it’s what you’re stuck with,” but his eyes are light and dancing, crinkled up at the corners.

 

“Lucky me,” Steve tells him, nudging him with one shoulder, and Tony grins, laughs, and drops a kiss on Steve’s shoulder in response.

 

“Okay,” he says.  “There’s a soup and then a pasta dish, with some bruschetta and some salad for a side.  Does that sound like enough?”

 

Steve can’t stop smiling now. Tony made all that, for him? It sounds like a lot of work. “More than enough,” he tells him, and reaches out to touch his face, gently, with the tips of his fingers. “It sounds perfect,” he tells him.

 

“Wait until you try it,” Tony tells him in return, but he’s smiling back, soft and flushed and pleased.  He reaches up, takes Steve’s arm and presses a kiss against his pulse, against his wrist, then sets both hands on his shoulders.  “Sit down,” he tells him.  “Let me have the satisfaction of serving you at least, you stubborn asshole.”

 

“Rude,” Steve says, and leans in and kisses the tip of Tony’s nose.  “You didn’t exactly ask nicely, but I guess I can do that for you.”

 

“I did cook,” Tony says, and Steve smiles back.

 

“You did,” he agrees, and sits down. Tony comes back with plates and plates of food a moment later, and Steve gets up to help him with it, because that’s what you do, and Tony scolds him, and kisses happen, before they get the food to the table.  As Steve knew it would be, it’s delicious.  The pasta is perfect, the sauce well balanced, and everything tastes incredible. In Steve’s private opinion, it’s much better than any of the fancy Italian restaurants Tony mentioned. Just knowing that Tony cooked it himself gives it an extra spice they’ll never have.  He’s starting to get used to some of the idiosyncrasies of Tony’s cooking, too, the spices he uses, the fondness for acidity, so he’s pretty sure he could pick his guy’s cooking out of a lineup. He eats twice as much as Tony, which is normal, but ends up feeding Tony forkfuls of pasta anyway when he teases him about not eating enough.  And _that_ turns into Tony in his lap, straddling him as Steve feeds him the last few bites of the meal, kissing him in between, then a few of the chocolates, which has Tony closing his eyes and arching his head back in bliss.  Steve skims his fingers up and down Tony’s back and enjoys the show, not to mention how happy Tony looks, the warmth and weight of his body over him, the heaviness of his arm around the back of Steve’s shoulders.  Chocolate turns into their lips against each other, when Tony suggests that Steve should taste it, which turns into long, hot lingering kisses that leave the two of them tangled up together, Tony pressed up against Steve’s chest, one hand warm against his face, sliding into Steve’s hair. Steve would have been happy to go for it right there, though they’d probably have to move from the chair to the bed if they weren’t going to break the poor thing, but Tony nuzzles his mouth into Steve’s neck, making tingles shoot through him with the soft scratch of his facial hair, and murmurs, “Take a bath with me,” in Steve’s ear, which sounds abruptly like the best idea possible.

 

Of course it turns out that Tony has a bath waiting, too, with more rose petals, and a candle burning that makes the room smell . . . well, good, though Steve can’t place the scent, something subtle and aromatically woody, not too floral.  It goes well with the smell of roses, and as it turns out Tony _is_ wearing red, red silk panties to match his shirt.  The bath is welcoming and steaming hot, and the feeling of Tony’s skin against his under the water, the warm slide of him and the way he looks wet and gleaming in the candlelight with rose petals sticking to him, laughing and breathless, mouth all swollen with kisses, isn’t something Steve’s about to forget any time soon. Tony doesn’t come in the bath, but Steve does, and he ends up gasping on his back while Tony presses kisses over his chest and shoulders, soaps him up sensuous and slow and has him shivering with pleasure, massages his hands back into Steve’s hair until it’s sudsing up with shampoo before he has him dip his head back, rinses him clean. Steve finds himself smiling at him, tracing his face with gentle hands, bringing him in close for a kiss. “Lucky,” he breathes, "I'm such a lucky guy," and Tony makes a face at him, but ducks his head down and kisses his palm all the same.

 

Steve decides to make it last for Tony, carries him over to the bed then spends his time drawing it out, kissing every inch of Tony with his hands and mouth.  He tastes like roses and sandalwood and chocolate and apples and rocks desperately into Steve’s fingers inside him, hitches his legs up and moans. He’s so hot and smooth inside, tight around Steve’s fingers, and Steve keeps his hand there, teasing him, even as Tony insists on giving him a blowjob, bringing Steve off again, too. His mouth is as perfect as always, warm and giving and rapturous, and Steve comes down his throat and feels like the luckiest man in the world.  The only thing better is watching Tony’s own climax, eyes squeezed shut, then open again, wide and just barely sheened with brightness at the corners as he gasps and gasps and can’t get his breath as Steve keeps his fingers inside him, thumbs at the tip of his cock where his other hand is wrapped tight around it.  Steve cleans them up afterward and presses Tony back into the bed, kissing him along his neck, his collarbones, deep kisses into his soft, eager mouth, and Tony just wraps his arms around his shoulders, hands deep in his hair, and returns the kisses, slow and languid and pleasure-hazy, but deeply eager, soft and sweet and wanting.  Steve palms his knees, his hips, up over his sides, touches the sides of his neck, and Tony sighs and leans up into him.  “So, you got laid tonight,” he chuckles into Steve’s ear, his voice still all hoarse and raspy, and Steve ruffles his hair even as he frowns at him, rubs at his hip.

 

“More like I had a great time tonight,” he tells him, and Tony smiles, loose and relaxed.

 

“I’m glad it was good,” he says, the words a low rumble in his chest.  He feels so relaxed under Steve’s hands, and that makes Steve happy, contented, along with the way he’s smiling.  “It was good for me, too.”

 

Steve kisses his nose again, then his forehead.  “You’re incorrigible,” he tells him, and Tony grins, his eyes flutter closed.  Steve seizes the chance to kiss first one eyelid, then the other.

 

“Guilty,” Tony murmurs sleepily, sliding his arms up further around Steve’s shoulders.

 

“I had a great night tonight, Tony,” Steve tells him, sincere, and Tony just smiles.

 

“So did I, sweetie,” he says back quietly, then blinks. “Oh yeah,” he yawns. “Tomorrow, and the next day, I should be free.  Got all my work stuff squared away today.  Or it should be. So I’m all yours, big guy.”

 

God.  Is that why he’s so exhausted?  Steve almost can’t believe it, the gesture, the magnitude of it, knows he’s beaming, feathering kisses over Tony’s face and seizing Tony’s mouth with his in a kiss, and Tony laughs happily and combs his fingers through Steve’s hair, responding just as passionately to the kiss.  

 

“I guess you like that?” he says when Steve pulls away, and his eyes are soft and affectionate as he reaches up, brushes Steve’s hair back away from his face.

 

“Like it,” Steve breathes.  “Hell, Tony.”  Two days of having Tony all to himself stretch out in front of him, since he’s between missions at the moment, too, and Tony must have planned it out that way, the damn genius.  Steve knows he’s grinning, squeezes Tony to him as he rolls over and plants another firm kiss on his mouth.  “It’s incredible, you’re incredible.  I can’t wait. I—”

 

Tony just laughs and kisses him again. “Cool,” he says. “Love you, you, you know that?”

 

“I do know,” Steve tells him, still glowing with the gesture.  “I know, Tony. I love you, too, so much.” Tony’s eyes light up in that quiet way that only happens when he’s really letting himself believe it, and he quickly kisses Steve again.  They kiss for a while, until Tony starts slowing down.  He’s half asleep by the time Steve manages to pull himself away and coaxes Tony into one of his robes, and he falls into Steve’s arms as Steve settles them in bed, Steve wearing a pair of pajama pants, because it can get cold even with Tony tucked into him in bed.  The orgasm on top of the bath, the food, however tired he must have been earlier, have really laid him out.  Steve pulls Tony down on top of him, and the blankets up around the both of them, and Tony yawns, sleepily kisses the side of his neck.  “Happy Valentine’s Day, sugar,” he mumbles, and Steve just smiles, kisses the side of Tony’s head.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day yourself,” he tells him, and holds him close.


End file.
